


come back to earth

by breadbaybee (keiman)



Series: your kids are sick but they're gonna be just fine [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-19
Updated: 2019-12-19
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:28:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21862654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keiman/pseuds/breadbaybee
Summary: i'll do anything for a way out of my head.
Series: your kids are sick but they're gonna be just fine [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1575820
Kudos: 2





	come back to earth

**Author's Note:**

> i have no idea either. sorry

he's bored out of his mind.

from outside, there's the soft ding of a bicycle bell, followed with a crash and shouting. another fight has broken out; a regular occurrence in these parts. he shuts the window.

it is silent, yet he is perturbed.

he knows this isn't good. if he's left alone for too long the uncertainty and doubt will catch up to him for sure. and so to occupy himself, he picks up his guitar, hums a little to accompany the tune.

he tires of it soon but his fingers do not cease in their strumming. he plays and he plays and he plays until his eyes lose focus and his fingers ache so he has no choice but to give up.

after a while, there's a buzz from the other side of the room and he's grateful for something new to distract him. it's a meaningless message from an insignificant person but he has nothing better to do so he sighs, shoots a text back.

the room is still and he grows impatient. a response does not arrive.

he's restless now, running out of things to do. maybe he'd go for another walk. but then, thankfully, _ah. i haven't showered in a while._, hits him and then he's off.

music echoes off the walls of the bathroom and the water is warm, comforting as it slides down and across his skin; the sound of it hitting the tiles beneath his feet mesh with the playlist blaring from his phone. he feels at peace in that moment; the shower has washed away all of the negativity plaguing him.

but it does not last long. more questions bubble up in his mind, the looming cosmic dread creeps in and envelops him. he thinks about himself. so small and frail and useless, so _unnecessary_ and now he's sure everyone hates him and they'd rather him gone. he thinks back on all the times he'd felt loved and he questions them so deeply to the point the memory itself fades and he's left more empty than before. he's thinking thinking thinking and it's terrible the more he thinks he understands the less he actually does.the sound of the shower grows to a din the music on speaker is just plain noise, blends into a cacophony. the water droplets falling onto him carry more and more weight and eventually it's too much to bear so he shuts off the shower and his phone to take a moment to sink to the floor.

he knows that he's thinking too much, reading too deeply into everything but his thoughts are all he has right now and he can't figure out how to rein them in.

there's a clot in his chest and it's heavy heavy _heavy_ on his body so he's inhaling, exhaling in order to dispel it; his breathing grows feverish and ragged from the stress but it's not going away. his lungs are filled with lead and he doesn't know what to do or what to think about.

existence is terrifying and he feels oh so very small. his brow furrows and he knows what is about to happen so he scolds himself and turns the shower back on. _won't cry. not crying._

what comes after, he doesn't remember. _thank god_, he thinks, for he knows if he did he'd laugh afterwards and hate himself even more.

but when he finally steps out he is more at ease but the weight on him has not let up and he's still shaken. but he's better now, calmer.

glances at his phone, '_you haven't eaten anything? you should. take care of yourself._' he lets out another sigh, and the knot in his chest comes undone a little. relief. 

_thank you, for caring._

he blinks. he's not fine, not happy. rather, far from it. he's tired and unmotivated and he feels insignificant. _but still_, he thinks, swallowing a forkful of leftover pasta, _everything will be okay in the end._

it has to be.


End file.
